


Finding a Light in the Darkness

by writeyourownlifestory



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gay Bashing, Hate Crimes, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 00:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyourownlifestory/pseuds/writeyourownlifestory
Summary: This wasn’t the first time he had been bashed, but it was the first time he had ever wished the bastards would’ve finished the job.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies! 
> 
> This story had previously been taken down by myself do to my own undeniable hatred for it. When I first wrote this, I was pretty desperate to be apart of the Dealor fanfic fandom and just wanted to have something out there. I didn't ever edit the work and instead chose to take a story I had already written and changed little things to make it about John and Roger. Everybody liked it, which was what I wanted, but over time I realized I was so fucking unhappy with it. 
> 
> So, I removed it and reworked it into something I was (partially) happy with. This is the result. I hope it's better. I hope you like it. Each chapter as new things added and some things removed. Hopefully, it all works out in the end.

John hated this. Hated the pain. Hated the chill of the night against his naked body. Hated the burn in his throat every time he took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time he had been bashed, but it was the first time he had ever wished the bastards would’ve finished the job. Prior to this, it had been nothing more than cruel words and the random shove. Nothing like this. Being broken down and beaten, left alone in the grasslands like cattle being prepped for slaughter.

A fight was exactly what the guys at the bar had in mind, though fortunately for them, they were a lot stronger than John and knew what they were dealing with. The way they punched, and kicked, and threw their slurs around made the dark haired man think that they had done this before. A sick feeling in his stomach came over when he thought about them actually being pros at something like this.

Tricking men like him into thinking they wanted something else when in fact all they wanted to do was leave him with nothing. Correction, they left his wallet behind, though something told him that was due to lack of realization that it had fallen from the contents of his pocket. John tried to offer the bit of money he had inside when they began cornering him, hoping to buy his way out of it, to no avail.

They took his clothes, something he wasn’t thinking about right now, but would eventually miss. He didn’t dress to impress very often. He always chose comfort over style, but every now and then John liked to pretend he was someone else. Someone who stuck out of the crowd in an appealing manner. It was obvious he stuck out on this night, but for a completely different reason.

He wondered if they could tell the moment they laid eyes on him. No one ever could. To most people, John was just a regular bloke. He went to class and studied hard. He cared about his degree and planned on graduating with honors. He did a party like some of the other kids in the dorms, but when he did go out it was usually to release a bit of stress.

Sometimes he’d pop into a pub or head to a disco. He liked dancing, but that didn’t make him gay. Having sex with a man made him gay, but he didn’t do that often. Truth be told, he swung both ways, but that didn’t matter to the group of men that cornered him.

John laid back against the ground, his gray eyes settling upon the night sky. He counted the stars as he thought about what just transcended. He was nursing a beer when a tall, lanky man came up to him. He was handsome enough. Good jaw line, very fit. John always tried to go for taller partners when he chose his men. And he had never met anyone taller than this man.

He was cute and funny, somebody John could see going home with. They flirted for a while and the guy seemed generally interested. He didn’t show any sign of being a threat so when he offered to drive John back to his place, the shorter man couldn’t find a reason why he should’ve said no. After all, he had a single bedroom dorm. He could have people come and go as they pleased, so having a one night stand there wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

They were halfway to his place when the man suggested they go somewhere else for a while. John was so excited to be around somebody new, somebody interested in him, he agreed. He knew he should’ve been suspicious when the guy pulled out of town and headed for the more rural area, but he figured the guy knew what he was doing.

And in all reality, he was correct.

England was a big place, but it didn’t take long to find an area that was open wide, full of green grass and cornfields. John didn’t even know of any farming towns or even maizes but it appeared his date for the evening did.

When they pulled into the secluded area, John didn’t know what to expect, especially when the man cut the engine. Maybe a bit of snogging, some heavy petting. He had a condom in his wallet at all times, knowing you could never be too careful. He didn’t think to bring lube, but spit would be fine.

It all happened so fast, John’s mind didn’t fully register what was even going on. One moment, it was just him and the guy and then in the next, more people arrived. Two more. Maybe three. Or four. He wasn’t sure exactly, he just knew there were more than him. His door opened suddenly and a man was standing there, smiling to him. The smile wasn’t warm, wasn’t welcoming. John shifted, feeling utterly uncomfortable under the man's gaze.

“Brought us a new playmate,” His date for the night mentioned, his own smile mirroring the man on the other side of John.

After that, it was a blur with only bits and pieces making their way through his mind. He remembered being dragged from the truck and tossed into the dirt. He remembered offering his wallet and begging to stop whatever it was they hand in mind. Someone hit him then and his wallet flew to the ground, going ignored by the group.

He remembered the punching and the kicking. He remembered the names he was called, as he had heard them all throughout his life. He remembered the undressing and the taunting, and the dirty feeling of the grass against his skin. He remembered one of them having a knife, toying with it. He didn’t know if he had been stabbed, but they showed it off well enough.

John wasn’t sure if they were intent on killing him, but they came pretty damn close to it. Eventually one of the men had enough, pulling the others off of him. John wished they had carried on. Continued until he was completely gone, whether that be totally dead or just merely unconscious. Either way, he just wanted it all to stop and then it did.

He felt sick to his stomach, unable to process what else had happened. He went in and out of consciousness, trying his damnedest to remember, to be able to collect his wallet and find his way back to his room, even with being as naked as the day he was born.

John had nearly given up, nearly swallowed down the spit and blood that seeped into his mouth and curled up on the ground when a van pulled up.

He lifted his head slightly, his gray eyes zoning in on the harsh lights coming from the van. For a moment he thought he might’ve been dreaming, that it was nothing more than a fantasy or perhaps that was the light at the end of the tunnel he was meant to follow. The driver's side of the door opened up and someone stepped out. They made hesitant steps toward him and John opened his mouth to say something; to fight against the scratchy pain that was left over from being choked when he saw the face of the stranger.

It wasn’t of the giant from the bar, nor was it the man who ripped him from the truck. Instead, it was a follower, one who stood in the background and watched as all his friends stripped and abused a total stranger. The one who shouted to the others and forced them to stop after such a long while.

John made a noise of protest when the guy came to his side, wanting to get as far away from him as he could. He came to finish the job and John refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.” The guy told him. His voice was soft. Kind. It didn’t fit well in the situation and that scared John. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I just need you to relax.”

John shook his head as he refused to give in to the man. He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying there for; whether it had been minutes or hours. John woke up several times, never finding enough strength to get a move on. Until now at least.

“I need you to trust me.” The guy said after a bit and that was when John spoke. With a heavy shake of his head, he mumbled out a ‘no’ still trying his best to crawl away. A hand came down on his side, strong and firm, causing John to groan out. “Listen to me.” He said almost urgently. “They might come back here. Reid or Tim, I don’t know which one, but they could come back, and if they do, they won’t just take your clothes this time and toss you around like a sack of potatoes; it’ll be a lot worse.”

John didn’t know who Tim or Reid was; he tried to think back to the guy at the bar, but to be honest, with the beating he had been given combing with the drinks he had, John could barely remember his own name in the time being. Everything just seemed fuzzy and heavy and the young man just wanted to lay his head down in the grass and sleep.

“Hey!” The man called again. “Wake up. Look, we gotta go.”

“No,” John repeated quietly.

“Do you want them to find you?”

“D-don’t care.”

The guy scoffed, shaking his head before he stood back up and retreated to his van. John hoped he had stayed there and would eventually drive off, but he couldn’t be that lucky. A few moments later he had returned and with things in hand as well.

“I know these aren’t yours.” The guy told him. “They got rid of those after we left. These will fit you for now. Come on, sit up.” John didn’t do anything of the sort. “I need you to sit up, all right? I know it hurts, but at least try.” John did try, for a moment. His arms hurt too much and he fell back down with a huff. Cursing, the guy reached out and grabbed John, pulling him upwards slowly into a sitting position. John made a noise in protest, but that went unheard as the man placed the clothes in front of him.

“I am gonna dress you okay? First the shirt, then the boxers, and then the pants. We’re gonna work together okay?” Before John could make any sort of response, the guy forced the sweatshirt over his head. John cried out, the pressure on his shoulders and arms making him want to push the guy away, but he knew he didn’t have the strength. However, the guy obviously got the point and when it came time to put his arms into the holes, he moved slowly, adjusting it carefully so John could put it on without an issue.

The sweatshirt was a bit large on him and had a university logo on it, but it was too dark to see and his eyes hurt too much to care. “Okay here.” The guy said, handing him a pair of silk boxers. “You can put those on yourself. One leg and then the other.”

“I know how-” John began.

The guy cut him off quickly. “Then just do it.”

John did as he was told, moving his arms slowly as he reached down to get his feet through the holes. His body was covered in blood and dirt and grass, making it a hell of a lot harder to put the boxers on. When he finally did it, they were almost as dirty as he was, but he couldn’t seem to care. The guy began putting the pants on him a moment later; one foot and then the other, and John did the rest after that, pulling them up to his waist as he laid back on the ground.

Looking up, John had finally caught a glimpse of the stars. He had always loved to gaze up and try to count them all. It was a failed attempt on his part, but he loved it nonetheless. After graduation and before he settled in on a job, he planned on going to New York, where stars were basically non-existent, so John planned on getting his fill during his summer. From where he laid, they seemed so far away. A million twinkling lights so out of reach, like they weren’t even there at all.

“I need you to stand.” The guy said, his voice pulling John from his half comatose stage.

“Why?” He questioned in a whisper.

“Because we have to leave remember?”

“No.” John began. “Why . . . why are you h-here?”

The guy was silent for a moment before beginning to move. “It doesn’t matter.” Reaching over, he grabbed John’s bicep and carefully moved him into a sitting position. Moving to stand, he continued to pull him up until he was standing. John’s legs, which were usually strong and poise, seemed as weak as Jell-O, causing John to tremble. The guy caught him, however, and placed an arm around him to keep him in an okay balance.

“Ready?” He asked. A moment passed and the two began walking. John cried out with almost every step, his body fighting against him in hopes of them stopping so he could lay back once more. They didn’t stop, however, and continued on to the guy’s van. Once there, he slid the door open and allowed John to crawl inside. It was covered in pillows and blankets. In the back of his mind, John wondered if he slept there too, but he was too out of it to fully question.

The moment the door was shut, John fall back, trying his best to stretch out his legs. “Just relax.” The guy said quietly as he crawled into the front cabin. “Sleep if you need to. Just stay relaxed and stay quiet.” He turned the car on and John closed his eyes as he felt the old van beginning to take off.

“Name.” He whispered. Noticing he wasn’t heard, John lifted his head and spoke a little louder. “What’s . . . what’s your name?” He asked. He was sure he would forget it in the morning; if there even was a morning for him, but he just had to know.

The guy turned to him, his eyes blazing and his jaw clenching then unclenching. He paused, watching him before returning his head forward and back onto the road. “Roger.” He replied quietly. “My name is Roger.” And just like that, Roger drove out of sight and John finally gave into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who noticed that I removed Brian from the equation, I did it as a favor to someone I care about very much who adores Brian. That curly haired man might be a thorn in my side, but he didn't deserve that. So in his place, we have Ray Foster.

John’s mind opened first, then his eyes. It came upon him slowly, the heavy haze that filled his mind slowly beginning to clear. The bed he woke up on was neither hard nor was it very soft. It was just there; a simple mattress with nothing impressive about it, yet he couldn’t get the texture out of his mind. He wondered if this is what sleeping on moss would be like; the hardness of the ground combined with the kind of softness of the moss to pillow you.

John knew it was a stupid thing to think about, but if he opened his eyes right away, then he would be faced with the memories of what had happened; and he didn’t want to face that right now. Part of him wondered if he could just lie there for a while. Just pretend to be asleep and maybe fall back in the process. Would Roger notice? If he did, would he let him stay there just for a little bit longer?

There was a noise beside him, the sound of shuffling. Roger was moving about the room. He went back and forth it seemed, before finally settling into something that creaked; a chair probably. The noise stopped after that and John wondered what the man was doing. If he was watching him make sure he was still breathing or something like that.

A sick feeling caught in John’s stomach, balling up at the mere thought of the guy caring about his well-being. Like that even mattered after the events that came before it.

Sunlight was shining over his face. It was warm. Almost welcoming. It was then that John began opening his eyes. Slowly, slowly, the fogginess taking over as he lifted his head slightly. He closed his eyes and sighed before trying again. It was clearer this time.

“Hey,” the voice beside him said. “You’re awake.” John made no reply. “You’ve been out for a while. Since you passed out in the van, actually. I wasn’t sure when you were going to   
wake up.” John wondered if Roger was waiting for an apology; as if it was his fault for worrying the poor man. “I got you something to eat and drink. You’re gonna need it.”

“Water.” John croaked out, shifting so he could sit up. His body ached in every way possible, but the headboard of the bed was strong enough to keep him up. A moment later, a chilling bottle of water came into his hand. He tried to open it, his hands fumbling to no avail. Roger took it from him, opening it up and bringing it to his lips. The water was freezing, so much so it hurt his throat and John spit it back out. Roger cursed softly, apologizing before trying again. This time the water went down and John drank half the bottle before pulling away.

The brunet took a moment to look around then, wanting to check out his surroundings. He was in a room; small yet spacious, which seemed filled with a large record player in the corner and a dresser pushed against the far wall. Posters of movies and musical groups were on the walls along with silly little slogan cards that told you to believe and achieve. A picture sat on top of the dresser, and while he couldn’t see what it was, he saw the colors of the clothing the guy in the picture was wearing and automatically noted that it was a uniform.

“Where am I?” John asked after a moment when his voice could be clear enough to understand.

“My place,” Roger told him. Like John knew the address and such. “I didn’t know where you were staying and dropping you off there would’ve been pointless anyway, so I brought you here so you could rest.”

John looked around again. It was a simple bedroom, one that looked more like it was a part of a house than a regular apartment. “Are we . . . are we alone?” John asked quietly.

Roger nodded slowly. “I live with my mum and sister, but they have the whole upstairs. I have the whole bottom level of the house. My own little apartment, so to say.” He smiled at his words like it was a tiny brag for him to say he has a whole level of a home to himself.

John just had his dorm. Smaller than the room he was currently sitting in. That room and everything in it was all John had in the entire world. The two fell into a small quiet after that, with neither have an idea where to take the conversation next.

Finally, John had enough and pushed himself to sit up properly, his head resting back against the headboard. “Where are they?”

Roger knew automatically who he was talking about. “Probably home or at work.” He told him. “I’m not going to see them today. It’s Sunday; everybody is usually home on Sunday’s or working – Reid may be out playing football but I’m not much of a player. Do you like any sports?”

“I did track in school.” He was good at running. He had legs that were long and had a good amount of muscle to them. It never took him anywhere, but it was something to do, something to pass the time.

Roger nodded approvingly. “I’ve never been into sports either. I’m light on my feet but I’ve always been more of a musically inclined man.” A moment passed and Roger turned away, grabbing the plate that he had the previously set down on his dresser. “Nearly forgot. I brought you something to eat. Crackers and bread. Bit of cheese too. Some protein. It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat. To build up your strength.” John shook his head once more. With a sigh, Roger placed the plate down on the nightstand, reaching forward to grab a small white bottle, shaking it. “I also brought you, pain killers. Will you at least take those?”

After a moment, John moved his head up and down to nod. Small, orange pills appeared in Roger’s hand along with the bottle of water. It could have been a trap, the pretty blond using his nice smile to trick John into taking something he shouldn’t. It worked well enough at the bar; John learned his lesson this time around, knowing he’d have to be careful around pretty people.

John swallowed them down, taking the chance and clearing his throat afterward. Another moment of passing came along and John found himself not being able to say anything. He felt like he was liked in a cage and John was his prison guard.

“What do you like to do for fun, John?” Roger asked after a bit, breaking the silence.

“How do you...?”

Roger cut him off, lifting John’s wallet up to view. “Found this on the ground when I came to pick you up. Don’t worry, didn’t take anything.” He tossed it onto the bed beside him. John didn’t bother checking. All he had was his ID and a bit of cash anyway. They could have taken the money if they wanted to, but that wasn’t the goal of the night.

“Were you having a good time before Tim found you?” Roger asked.

John cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “What kind of question is that?” He demanded dryly.

Roger just shrugged. Maybe he just wasn’t good at conversation. Or maybe he had done this so many other times, picked up the broken pieces his friends left behind that he became numb to it. What other reason did he have to come and find him?

They sat there, neither saying a word. Roger nudged the plate beside him, but the brunet refused. He wasn’t hungry. With a sigh, Roger stood from the edge of the bed. “You should get some rest.”

“I just woke up.”

“Rest will help. Rest heals.”

“Why am I here?”

“So you can rest,” Roger told him. “So you can heal.”

“I could’ve rested out there. I could’ve healed out there. Someone would’ve found me.”

“I found you.”

John swallowed hard, pushing back up the bed, against the headboard. “You also did this to me.”

“I didn’t touch you.”

“But your friends did.” John reminded him. “They tricked me. And hit me. And made me wish I was dead.”

“And I picked you up from that,” Roger said almost automatically. “I came back and brought you here. I cleaned your wounds and let you sleep in my bed. I protected you.”

“Why?”

Roger shifted once more, his eyes falling slightly. “Because you didn’t deserve that.” He said. “Even if you are what they said you are, you didn’t deserve to be beaten like that.”

“And what did I say I was?”

Roger stared at him, though his eyes revealed nothing new. No compassion. Not hatred. Just blank.

“They did this because they thought I’m gay,” John muttered, already knowing the answer for it. It wasn’t anything new to him after all.

John wanted to tell him he was wrong. He swung both ways, but what did it matter? Nobody bloody believed him anyway. If he was with a girl, he only liked girls. If he was with a bloke, he only liked blokes. Story of his fucking life.

“And that is the worst thing in the world a man can be?” Not racist. Not a rapist. Not a murderer. He deserved to be beaten and bruised all because he wanted to hold another man’s hand. “Was it the first time they had ever done something like that?” He asked suddenly.

“Like that,” Roger admitted. He stood at the side of the bed, his fist clenching every so often. “They had been known to mess with guys like you before. Tease them and pick on them. Once they had keyed a guy’s car because they thought he was gay and consistently harassed a girl who was known to be a lesbian. But with you,” He said, turning to look at John. Shaking his head, Roger looked to the ground. “They had never picked anybody up before.”

“Why did he pretend?” John asked quietly. He felt like a child, asking his mother why his pet ran away. So sad, so confused. “The one at the bar. He acted like he was interested.”

“That was Tim,” Roger told him. A quiet click went into John’s mind, the name going with the face. “He’s straight but pretty. He just has one of those faces, you know? He could pull off being a really great guy when in fact he’s-“

“An abusive homophobe?” Roger looked up to him before nodding. “And the others?”

“They’re just mates.” Roger insisted. “Tim and Ray were friends since childhood, so they basically do everything together. John Reid . . . he is something else. He’s the leader of it. He started it all; ganging up on people and praising the word of the lord as his excuse.” Roger snickered quietly. “It’s funny how people will do that. Put people down because God said it was wrong, and then they go home to fuck their girlfriends and eat their shrimp.”

“Why were you with them?”

Roger shrugged. “Because I’m smart.” He insisted. “I know them and I know how they think. We run in the same circles. They’re a bunch of pricks who think they know what’s best. I stay on their good side to keep myself out of trouble.”

“You put up with them hurting people just to protect yourself?”

“I’m protecting you, aren’t I?” John fell silent. He wondered if there was anything about Roger that could make the group turn on him. John lived on the thought that everybody had a secret. He could only imagine what Roger’s was.

After a while of silence, Roger finally settled back into his chair and sighed quietly. “You gotta leave tomorrow, so we gotta make sure you can move today.” Reaching his hand, he waited to John to take it. “Let’s get to standing.”

John thought about this, knowing he had only one choice and took Roger’s hand in his own. It hurt a bit, but less than it had the night before. Closing his hand around the brunet’s, the blond pulled him in carefully so he could scoot to the edge of the bed. After that, he pulled John to his feet. Like the night before, John’s body felt heavy, too much for the male to carry. Roger held onto him, making sure he had adjusted before releasing his hands.

“How’s it feel?” He asked. John mumbled a quiet ‘rough,' to which got Roger nodding. “It’ll get better. At least you’re not bleeding any more right?”

Only then did John realized Roger had cleaned up the marks on his face. He has a small bandage going on his cheek and one just above his eyebrow. His lips no longer tasted like blood, but rather chap-stick. He was still wearing the clothes Roger had given him the night before, so he guessed the male hadn’t cleaned him up on his body.

“Try to walk, okay?” Roger insisted. Roger gave him a nod before stepping forward. His legs hurt, but it wasn’t anything too horrible. Most of the kicks he received went to his side. He took a few steps forward and noticed he was limping, though not terribly. “Do you want to shower?” Roger asked. The thought of being dipped into hot water had an almost orgasmic appeal to John, and the two headed for the bathroom.

The room itself was rather small, nothing in it but a bath, sink, and toilet, but then again, what more do you need? The bathtub was normal size, which was pretty small since both John and Roger (who were around the same height) who rather tall, but they would make it work. As John began to strip, Roger went to turn the water on.

“Do you think you can stand long enough to clean up?” He asked. John thought about it. His legs were already beginning to hurt; adding water onto an already slippery surface might not be the best idea. Shaking his head, Roger went to begin a bath.

First went the sweatshirt, which John could see more clearly now. Navy blue with white lettering that revealed the initials of Roger’s school. It was the first time since he had gotten dressed yesterday afternoon had he seen his body in any sort of light. The discoloration to his chest and ribs were enough to make him gag, but he continued to undress until the pants were gone and he was let in the boxers.

Roger lifted his head, gazing at John in his true form. John couldn’t tell if it was his body that caught the male’s attention or something else. Any other time he would’ve welcomed somebody checking him out, but now he felt insecure. Broken. And as he leaned forward to slip off the boxers, a pain in his side suggested the same thing.

“Be careful.” Roger insisted, his arm wrapping around John to help him stand. “You might have a broken rib. You may have to get it checked out.”

“If I leave now, I can check into the medical ward at my school,” John told him quietly.

Roger shook his head, his golden hair falling in front of his face. “I want to help you first.” He admitted quietly. Reaching out, he took one of John’s hands and helped him into the water. Cries and moans escaped John’s lips as he settled into the water. Some spilled over the edge and onto the ground, but Roger ignored it. It felt heavenly, with the warmth taking over his body, but he could already feel the struggle that would come when he prepared to leave.

Grabbing the bar of soap, he placed it into John’s hand and waited for the boy to begin. John had never felt so naked before in his life; not even when he first lost his virginity or when he took somebody else’s had he felt this vulnerable. Part of him wanted to crawl into a ball and cry, but he knew none of that would’ve helped. So instead he lifted his hand and began washing. His shoulders and his chest first, moving down to his stomach. It hurt just to touch, but it worked.

John’s raised an arm so he could wash his back, but the movement seemed too painful for him, and Roger took over without a word. Moving his hand and the bar up and down his back, Roger washed him clean before moving around to the front of the tube so he could wash John’s legs. The way his hand moved, so graceful and careful, it was like he was treating John like a porcelain doll. One he didn’t want to add any chips or cracks too, despite it already being broken.

For a moment, John almost felt himself relax. It was nice to hand somebody’s hands on him, especially gentle hands. Laying his head back against the rim of the tub, he allowed his eyes to close. He wasn’t thinking of anything, in particular, just the feeling of someone take care of him when he felt Roger’s fingertips begin to move higher. They continued to move up his legs, the bar of soap between them, washing at his black and blue body when they came up to his crotch.

Lifting his head, John’s eyes settled on Roger’s face, which seemed to be scrunched up like he was trying to think of something. It was an almost cute look, but it went away the moment he caught John gazing at him. His hand stayed there for another moment and for just a second, John felt Roger’s knuckle graze him before it retreated down back.

John wondered how he could do this. Perhaps it was his own punishment for allowing others to cause such pain. He cleaned up their messes to keep himself in their good graces. John watched Roger carefully, waiting for him cross some line something else. He washed John so delicately, with so much care. He didn’t force John to struggle and do it on his own. He took such good care of John that it almost frightened him.

Especially since the men were both fully aware of him sitting there, in the dirty water, completely naked. Stark as the day he was born, waist down submerged in the tiny tub. And yet Roger carried on, not looking away or blushing at the slight he was obviously getting out of this.

“You have dirt in your hair,” Roger noted as he came to stand. Grabbing the bottle of shampoo, Roger walked around to go behind John again. A few seconds later, a small squirt and Roger’s hands were in his hair, massaging and working in the shampoo. It was the first time since he was a child John had somebody else clean him and it felt better than he thought it would; after breaking through the initial awkwardness of course.

The finger’s digging into his scalp went on for a bit before Roger stopped, his hands falling to John’s shoulders. “Hold your breath.” He told him before pushing John under the water. John had always loved to go under the water when he was in a bath. After running, swimming as his favorite activity. He felt free there. Clean. Away from the world. Coming back up, he wiped the water from his face. Roger found a cup he could use and poured the water onto his head repeatedly until all the soap and shampoo was gone.

When it was time to get out, the clear water had turned brown, mixed with a bit red from the leftover blood the two had managed to get off him when he arrived. John watched as it slipped down the drain, leaving nothing behind but the streaks of color scarring the white tub.

Roger, who had left to grab a clean towel, reappeared and gripped John’s arm and pulled him up to stand. He helped him step out of the tub before he began drying him. First, his head, shaking the towel all along with his hair, taking it from completely soaking to damp. After that he went downwards, running the towel along John’s chest. Next came his legs, which Roger knelt down for. He took his arm there, wanting to dry each leg carefully. Looking down, seeing Roger on his knees before he gave John horrible thoughts. One’s he shouldn’t be thinking of in a time like this; about a guy like this. A guy who had been there as his friends beat him until he bled and left him alone in the dirt.

The thoughts only got worse when he felt the towel graze his ass. It wasn’t for long, though then he moved to the front. Roger lifted a hand, placing it just above John’s bottom as he used his second, the one with the towel, to dry his general area. He closed his eyes, knowing that he was blushing, but thankfully John didn’t dwell down there.

When Roger stood again, he paused, taking a long look at John. Far longer than necessary. He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering from John’s own pair to the top of his head. “I didn’t notice it until now,” Roger muttered, his face turning pale. “Tim . . . he has switchblade he carries everywhere. It’s mostly just to show off but this time….” He mentioned somberly. “He . . . he cut a bit of your hair up.”

John’s eyes widened suddenly, and he turned to face the mirror that was hanging above the sink. While it wasn’t completely butchered, it was easy to see his hair had been messed with. The dampness only made it more obvious and John leaned onto the sink for support.

“We can fix it.” Roger offered. “I have scissors. We can try.”

John wanted to argue that there was no fixing this. They could cut it all off until he was as bald as a newborn babe, but he would still know. The scars, both physical and mental, would still last. Rather than saying anything, he moved to sit back on the toilet seat, his head hanging low.

Roger left the room and returned, pair of scissors in hand. He was asking John this and that, about the length and what not. Without a word, John took the scissors from him and began cutting away blindly, snipping away all the inches he had worked so hard on growing and keeping healthy. His mum had mentioned cutting his hair a time or two, but he refused. It was something he had done once he moved out on his own, lived on his own. It was something for himself, something he could control, and now it was gone.

He stood, turning back to the mirror so he could look at himself. Roger took the scissors from him and adjusted what he had done, letting the final pieces of hair fall to the ground. His hair hadn’t been this short since he was a schoolboy just shy of fifteen. With the bandages and hair, John could barely recognize himself. The only thing that truly remained was his eyes, though the shine to them had dimmed significantly. His eyes found Roger’s in the mirror; grey mixing with blue as the two just stared at one another before John turned and hobbled back into the bedroom, going to sit stark naked on Roger’s bed.

“Here,” Roger said, rummaging through his dresser until he found some clothes for him to wear. “These should hold you over.”

It was a tee shirt and work out shorts, along with another pair of silk boxers. John took them without a word and began dressing. Roger looked him over, giving him an approving nod. “Good. You look good. Fit.”

John didn’t say anything. He just sat back down on the bed, pushing himself back so he could sit against the headboard. “Are you hungry?” Roger asked. John gave him nothing more than a bob of his head. “I can make you something better than bread and crackers. My kitchen is pretty small, so I’ll use the one upstairs. Do you want to follow?” John thought about it, but shook his head, no. “Okay. Just sit tight all right?” Turning on his heel, Roger left the room.

Lying back on the bed, John ran his fingers through his hair. It was so short now and while he knew it was just hair and that it would grow back without issues, he couldn’t help but be a bit sad over it. Just another reminder that this happened. Another piece of the nightmare living on for him as the days passed by.

For a brisk moment he thought he might have been able to fall back asleep, but instead, he just relaxed; the pain in his body numbing as the medicine John gave him finally kicked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any mistakes. I tried my best to edit everything before posting, but I will say I have terribly dyslexic so if I missed anything, please forgive me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall, this fanfic gives me headaches. I don't know why. I'm glad everybody likes it, but please know I've spent a good portion of my write wanting to bang my head against a wall. Was it all worth it? Let's hope so.

“Hey,” Roger said as he returned from upstairs. John opened his eyes and lifted his head, finding the blond holding a plate in one hand and a bottle of some off-brand fizzy drink. Handing him the plate, he found it to be two sandwiches with crisps on it. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made a bit of cheese on toast. Nothing spectacular but it should be flavorful enough. Regular crisps. Usually, go for vinegar, but my mum isn’t much a fan. I made you two cause I am sure you’re starving, and also got you a pop. Figured you’d like something other than water.”

A shiver ran down John’s spine as he thought of the taste of blood and dirt mixing in his mouth the night before. “Can you open it for me?” He asked. Roger did so before taking his seat beside the bed. Handing John the opened bottle, he scooped up a couple of crisps, cradling them in his hand as he sat casually.

The two ate in silence for a while, neither having anything to say to the other. And yet, it wasn’t awkward. If anything, it was merely needed. Rest of the talking and the working had done today. Looking around aimlessly, John found a picture upon the wall just beside the bed. It was of Roger, dressed in his uniform along with several other young men. Private primary school. Roger was younger, looking so small and innocent.

Roger still had the boyish look to him now, but his hair was longer and his style was more adult. He wore the usual bell bottoms and tight shirts that went with the fashion trend, but he wasn’t outwards about it. He wasn’t showy. John never tried to look like he wanted to stand out. He found a good mixture of comfortable, yet fashionable that he thought worked well for him.

With trends changing so often, it was sometimes hard to keep up, but he never allowed himself to get lost in the mix. Roger began making idle conversation, asking John about what he was studying. He had seen his school ID card in his wallet and knew he was a student. John spoke carefully, talking about his genuine passion for electrical engineering. He liked to fiddle about, never worrying if he was to receive a shock or two. It came with the occupation.

Roger admitted his own schooling, how he was studying biology. “Mum wanted me to be a dentist, but it’s so bloody boring, mate. I mean, all that schooling just to fix someone's teeth? It’s just not worth it.”

He would settle for the bachelors in biology and maybe get a job working in a lab. He also liked to work with his hands. “Outside, in the sitting room, I have a drum kit. I’ve been playing for nearly thirteen years. Something to do, to keep me busy. I practice when I can. Tim and I used to be in a band called Smile. We retired when our guitarist went off to Uni.”

John was baffled by how casually Roger could speak about them. Like they were all just a bunch of lads who didn’t beat the ever loving shit out of John and left him in the grasslands.

“Why are you so afraid of them?” John asked suddenly. His first sandwich had been pulled apart. He was hungry, but he had too much on his mind to focus on eating. Roger arched a brow, cocking his head to the side. “Your friends,” John stated. “You act as if you don’t join them, then you will become their target. What is it about you that could make them hate you?”

Roger was silent for a moment, looking everything except for at John. For a second, John thought he saw his face begin to scrunch up like he was gonna prepare to think but instead he just stood up and walked across the room as he had done before. Pacing about aimlessly.

“You’re different from most people.” Roger finally said. “People around here don’t like different. Not really. Ray and Tim and John Reid . . . we come from very similar backgrounds. The same shit is expected of us. Tim’s parents want him to study law, so he is. Ray is going to school for production, and Reid is going to be an accountant. We all live normal lives. We’re just regular people, living our regular lives.”

“But you’re different somehow,” John questioned, eyeing Roger carefully.

“My mum mostly raised me and my sister on her own. She’s a wonderful woman, always put up with my bullshit. Moved us all the way from Cornwall so we could have better schooling. She let me play my drums and kept me out of trouble for most of my life.”

“So she knows about the people you hang around with?”

“They don’t . . . they hide this side of themselves well enough,” Roger admitted, scratching at the back of his neck with his hand. “As I got older, I noticed some things about myself that didn’t seem very good. At least in the eyes of those around me. I liked the music. I loved to perform and draw and be creative. I like people . . . some more than others. Some that the world may not approve of.”

Roger shifted from where he stood, holding his head out high. “I play a little game with myself. See how long I can hold on for. I have a soft voice and gentle features. You’re . . . John, you’re so bloody beautiful. Even with the bruises and scars, you’re a gorgeous man. But you’re not some weak little thing that bounces around, swishing about like a girl. And neither am I. We’ve both been dealt the same card. We just chose to play them differently.”

John sat up slightly, his eyes narrowing in on Roger.

The man who had stood there and watched as his friends beat him again and again. Calling him names and joking that they should set him ablaze like the faggot he is. Spitting at him and taking a pocket knife to his hair, cutting it up at the ends before leaving him to fend for himself in the middle of the grasslands without a stitch of clothing on him. The same man that came back to his aid, brought him home and cleaned him. The one who had done all that was . . . was just like him.

“You’re-”

“Don’t.” Roger cut him off. “Those words have never left my mouth. And they won't while I am still in this town. What I am doesn’t concern you, so don’t worry about it. Just focus on being able to get your strength up so you can leave tomorrow.”

“So that’s it? You’re different because you play pretend?” John asked him bluntly.

“I play the part I need to play until I can leave this place and never come back,” Roger told him somberly. “They’re going to be stuck here, living a life that had been created for them. And that’s why they hate people like you. People like us. Because we’re able to slip through the cracks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes. I'm drunk off dumb bitch juice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still super short. Sorry, my dudes.

That night was the first night in a long time that John felt like he was normal. That’s a lot to say about somebody who had previously gotten bashed, beaten, and abused, but there was just something about Roger that allowed John to be free. With Roger, he didn’t have to act like someone so desperate to fit into the crowd. He could make small, sly remarks about Roger’s room or his taste in music. He could be a smart ass and smirk, even despite the bruises on his lips.

John was settling into the tiny chance he had been given and he was taking full advantage of it as the night carried on.

They talked more about what they wanted to do with their lives. John mentioned that, upon graduating, he hoped to go to New York. He never left Europe before and was curious to know if the big city all the way across the sea was as wonderful as everyone made it out to be.

Roger, who was determined to get his degree just to have the bragging rights to say he did it, mentioned how he had never left either. “I always thought about buying a ticket and just going for it. I always wanted to see a show in the city. Could you imagine it? Sitting in Madison Square Garden, watching a rock concert with that fantastic sound?”

“Do you write songs?” John asked, remembering the drum kit that sat in the corner of his sitting room.

“Yeah, but they’re mostly rubbish. I play a bit guitar but I’m better at drumming. Who the hell wants to listen to a drummer sit behind his kit and sing into a mic?”

John shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I used to play bass when I was young. After my father died, my mum wanted me to have something to focus on. All young boys chose a guitar. I thought bass would be fun. A bit unique.”

“You certainly have the fingers for it,” Roger mentioned, his eyes flickering to the digits. “Do you sing?”

John smirked, raising a brow to the man. “Terribly.” He answered. “But I have a friend back home. He sings like an angel. He thought about starting a band. He wants to be big and I think one day he will be.”

“You should join him. He’d be your ticket out of here if you could land a few gigs.”

John shook his head, sighing. “Not my passion. I’m good at it, but I could never do it professionally.” Reaching over, John took the bottle of water he had been nursing, sipping at it slowly once he took the cap off.“What do you think they think?” John asked carefully. “Your friends. What will they think of me? Like what happened to me after they left?”

Roger thought about it for a moment, trying to piece together a correct response. “Probably nothing.” He stated. “They beat you senseless, but they didn’t rob you. They know you’re not dead, but since it was dark and nobody exchanged names, they probably think you won’t rat them out. The most you could do is tell the police what bar you were at, but that is highly unlikely. They think you’re scared, not stupid. Besides, I know that police don’t always take hate crimes seriously. They chalk it off as some poor fairy got what he deserved.”

“You seem to have them pinned down pretty well,” John told him.

Roger shrugged lazily, sipping slowly at his bottle of lukewarm beer. “The things we do to survive.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content is ahead. Obviously, this may seem strange and erupt, but the way I tried to present it, John and Roger are two people hiding away and use the opportunity to find a bit of pleasure in all the pain. If you don't like it, don't read it. /Shrug emoji/

Roger was in the middle of cleaning his wounds when John decided to ask him a rather personal question. His bandages had gotten wet while taking the bath and Roger wanted him to have dry new ones before they went to bed. One after another he would pull them off, gently cleaning John’s bruises before covering them up with carefully arranged bandages. He also added a bit of ointment that would help with the marks and got some ice for John’s sides, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible before going to sleep.

The two had just finished eating and were preparing for bed. Roger had made them dinner (chicken with potatoes — his mother’s favorite). Roger brought her a plate as well and stayed with her for a bit while John relaxed on his own before the blond returned and they continued on with their speaking.

“Have you ever been with anybody?” John asked, watching as Roger’s thinking face came and went as he worked on him. “You know like . . . really _been_ with them?”

John didn’t want to say the word. He could. Nothing would stop him, but he knew Roger didn’t like it, wasn’t ready for it, so he chose to just let the blond figure out what he meant.

“I’m not a bloody virgin if that is what you’re asking,” Roger noted with a roll his eyes. He told him about when he was young and his mum would send him and his sister to summer camp so that they wouldn’t run amuck while school was out.

There had been a handful of people in Roger’s teenage life that caught his attention. Some he got involved with, while others were nothing more than people passing through the night. He always knew better, always knew that he had to be careful. When he was with someone he shouldn’t have been with, it was always someone who would be just as eager to keep it a secret as he was.

He also mentioned how he had been with a girl or two, to keep up appearances. He knew how to pleasure someone and took pride in giving them a good time even if they couldn’t do the same for him.

“And what about you? Waiting for your prince charming to sweep you off your feet?” Roger asked, smiling brightly to him.

It was a dangerous conversation and yet at the same time, it felt so casual. Like just two mates, catching up on life.

John shook his head. He wasn’t waiting on someone and he knew no one was waiting on him. “A few dates here and there. I do like girls, just as I like boys. Nothing ever lasted very long, however. But I have been with both before.”

“I bet you’ve broken dozens of hearts,” Roger said, leaning in so he could place a small bandage over John’s eye. John smiled sadly but made no reply. Instead, he chose to watch the blond and take in all his features. He was a beautiful creature; tragically so and part of John wondered if he would ever see somebody so beautiful when he went off to New York. Sure, he’s met attractive men before. So hot and fit it made him want to do backflips, but Roger had features that one could only dream about. It was always painful to look at.

“Do you think you’ll ever find somebody?” John asked after a bit of silence. Roger, who has been focusing on his work, lifting his eyes, locking them with the gray eyes John possessed.

“Anything is possible.” He noted, his eyes flickering down to look at John’s lips. For a split second, John thought he was going to kiss him. That Roger would cut through the tension that was building between them and press his lips to John’s. But instead, he just went back to his work, going through his first aid kit to make sure there wasn’t anything he had forgotten.

Part of John wanted to just let him carry on. Soon they would be asleep and then tomorrow he would return back to his dorm. He would go on with his life and never head out to that particular pub ever again. He would be more careful and stick to the same disco he was used to.

Either way, John didn’t listen to the tiny voice in his head. Lifting his hands, he captured Roger’s face, lifting it up so they could look at one another. A second passed and all they did was gaze at one another. A silent agreement passed between the two and before they both knew it, they were both leaning in. Lips pressed, heads angled, eyes closed as they kissed softly. John had always like kissing; it was one of the few personal things he liked to do with another guy. He hoped Roger liked kissing and hoped he liked kissing him. His lip hurt lightly from a punch he had taken early, and if by chance Roger thought he was a bad kisser, John would blame it on that.

After a few seconds, the two pulled away. John’s mouth hung open while Roger’s formed a thin line, which lasted for a second before his tongue came along, poking out slowly as he licked along his lips. John wanted to speak. Wanted to say something. Anything. To apologize or thank him, whichever would work best, but before he could, Roger’s lips were back on his.

This kiss was harder, deeper, and a lot more powerful. There was no rush of the tongue, no hands moving to grip his clothing. They were kissing -- the most simple and innocent of acts one could do with a person. And yet it didn’t feel innocent. It felt sloppy and dirty, but not in a bad way. John didn’t know how any person could think an act such as this was wrong when it just felt so good. 

John’s eyes fluttered shut once more and for a pure second, he thought he might have been dreaming, since this couldn’t be happening. Something like this was something people make movies and books on. It doesn’t happen to real people. The Stockholm syndrome thing never seemed very appealing, but then again, who really knew what went down in people’s minds these days.

They continued kissing, their impromptu snogging session slowly turning into so much more. John’s ribs were bruised and more than likely broken or featured. His skin was discolored and his lips were slightly swollen. 

And yet both of them didn’t seem to care. Their tongues were twisting and their hands were wandering, making their way past their clothing until their fingers grazed bare skin. When John made the move to kiss him, he hadn’t expected any of this to happen. 

The smart move would have been to stop. To take a moment and think about what they were doing. And yet they carried on so easily, accepting the rare moment of pleasure that was coming their way in a sea full of ugliness and pain. 

Roger moved over John, pushing him back until they were flat on the bed, their lips never breaking as he pulled away at the bottoms he had lent the brunet. John moaned against his mouth as Roger’s calloused hand wrapped around his aching member. He touched him so thoroughly, those deft fingers sliding from the base to the tip, squeezing ever so gently. 

John pushed away at Roger’s own knickers, his hand finding Roger’s throbbing cock in the dark. The blond let out a strained groan, his lips trailing along John’s jaw and down his neck. They stayed huddled like this, kissing and branding one another as their jerked the other off. Only the name of their partner and a string of curses left their lips when they finally finished; soaking up their hands and clothing in the process. 

When the kiss was over, Roger pressed his forehead against John’s. He could feel the boys breathe against his face and John had to fight back the need to kiss him again. 

“I saw you,” Roger spoke quietly. John cocked his head slowly, and Roger opened his eyes so they could look at one another. “At the pub. I saw you talking to Tim. The way you spoke to him; the way your eyes lit up when you thought he was interested . . . god, it broke my heart. You are so beautiful and they hurt you so badly. They . . . they would have killed you, John. Gut you like a fish and leave you out in the field for the animals to scavenge on. I am so sorry, John. I am so fucking sorry.”

John would tell there was something different about Roger’s tone now. It reminded him of the night before, when Roger came back to find him. How worried he was, how careful his words were. This was the first time the blond had actually apologized for what had happened. 

The first time he took the blame for just standing there and not trying to help when he had the chance, instead only breaking it up when he realized just how far the others were willing to go. 

John couldn’t be angry with him. From the very beginning, Roger had kept a good eye on him and now he was continuing that. Roger might have to wear a mask to protect himself, but he wasn’t the coward in the situation. He was merely the hero lurking in the shadows; taking his time and playing the villains game before finally pouncing in and saving the day.

The two shared a bed that night. Roger’s bed was pretty damn small, but the two made it work. John laid on top of Roger, his head on his chest as he listened to his heart beating. It was a gentle, rocking tempo. It was the first time he had ever huddled into somebody before and he couldn’t get over how amazing it felt to have a pair of strong arms around him, protecting him like this. And knowing they were Roger’s arms only seemed to make it better.

They spoke quietly, letting the darkness take over them. Roger’s ceiling was bare except for several glow-in-the-dark stickers that had been placed when Roger was a child, or so he says. A car, lion, and several letters spelling out his name were left up there, along with several different start shaped stickers. This made John smile and he found himself falling sleep with the belief that for a moment, they were sleeping under the watchful eyes of the stars; something John always found comfort in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger wasn't kidding. Ray, John Reid, and Tim would have straight up murdered John if he hadn't stepped in. Granted, if he could have also stepped in earlier but then we wouldn't have this story.


	6. Chapter 6

When John woke, he didn’t feel any better. On the inside, at least. His body was still black and blue and still ached to the core, but he could deal with the pain. It reminded him of when he was younger and the last time he had been tossed around by a group of bullies. They punched him a bit, but one of the boy’s in his school have shoved him against one of the brick walls of the school and he wound up with a concussion when his head slammed against it.

He was thankful he hadn’t gotten one this time, but then again, Rey, Reid, and Tim were more interested in kicking from the chest down and cutting away at his dark locks than paying any attention to his face; even if they did get a lucky punch or two.

Roger had woken up first; showered and cleaned his room while John slept on. When he finally woke, there was breakfast for him; toast and oatmeal. They ate in silence. Twenty-four hours ago, going home seemed like a dream. He wanted to be checked out medically and then curl up in his tiny dorm room bed and forget any of this ever happened. However, as the minutes went on, John felt a strange ping in his chest when he thought about leaving.

He tried to ignore it, reminding himself this is the way it had to be. Staying here . . . it was like a fairy tale. Perhaps a Grimm’s original, where it actually really dark and depressing, and they don’t change the ending as Disney did. Even if Roger was kind and generous, and so not meant for this town, that didn’t mean they had to go on with their . . . whatever you would call it. The unusual friendship the two had created in the short hours they spent together.

No, things had to go according to plan. John would return to his quiet, lonely dorm room. Roger would stay in his home, his quaint, bottom level apartment of his mothers home. John would go to New York and invent great sounding amplifiers while Roger would keep buying time until he had the chance to get the hell out of London and hopefully never look back.

Once they were finished eating and Roger had given John a new outfit to wear, the two prepared to leave. Roger spent a good portion looking for his keys, searching everywhere for them. Roger remembered that they were upstairs, sitting in the bowl by the door and he told John to just follow him up, that they would leave through the front door instead of the back gate like they had entered.

Roger’s mum was in the kitchen when they descended up the stairs, causing both men to freeze. She seemed like a healthy woman up close; younger than his own mother, and smiling just as lovely. She had greeted them kindly, looking to Roger with wondering eyes when she spoke of him never bringing company over. John, trying his best to not seem like he could fall over any moment, extended a hand and introduced himself. He apologized for not meeting her before, but the woman merely waved the thought away, insisting they had met now.

She offered him tea and a chance to talk, but Roger insisted they had to leave. The three said their goodbyes and the men headed out.

“She seems nice,” John told him, to which Roger agreed, but didn’t carry on the conversation any longer. Once in the van, John felt a familiar pain run through his veins as he leaned against the door. Flashes of the night before had come into his mind, but they were quickly replaced with new ones Roger had supplied for them. The kisses they shared, the way they touched one another so tenderly, and the feeling of having somebody to hold onto during the night happened to be a few.

John told him where the school was and Roger got to driving. It wasn’t too far out of the way and they mostly had an idle conversation through the traffic. John tried to think of when the medical building would be open until. He wondered how he would pass this off — perhaps just mention that he had been jumped or maybe lie and say he was in a fight club of sorts and he lost.

He prayed they didn’t call his mother. After all, he was an adult and he didn’t need her to know everything.

“What are you gonna do now?” John asked halfway through their drive.

Roger gave a small shrug like he was unsure of how to properly answer. “Probably go back home. Spend some time with my mum before calling up the boys. We’ll go out — they’ll probably still be gloating about the job they did on you and I’ll just stand there, smiling through the urge to bash their faces into a cement wall.”

John said nothing. Mostly because he didn’t know what to say. He had never been in a situation like this and something told him neither had Roger. John wondered if Roger’s mum knew that her son was . . . different. She seemed almost ecstatic to see her him leaving with somebody, and John bit his tongue to keep himself from asking. He also wanted to ask what he would tell his mum if she asked about the bruises, but that was Roger’s business, not his.

When they finally pulled up to the dorms, Roger cut the engine. They couldn’t stay there for long. Someone would eventually notice, ask them to move. A moment passed and the two just sat there, unsure of how to react to what had finally come.

“If you leave,” John began, biting his tongue at his choice of words. “When you leave that town . . . where will you go?”

Roger gave another shrug. “I don’t really know.” He replied. “Maybe California. The sun, the beaches. Or maybe Florida? I heard the sun always sets behind you on Miami beach.”

“How about the city?” John suggested.

The blond bobbed his head, like the sound of it. “I could do a city. Loud noises, busy streets. So many people you can barely think.”

“New York? You could always go there. People are open there. A city filled with music, and dancing, and culture.”

“And you,” Roger said, turning his head so he could finally meet the gaze of the other male.

John was silent for a moment, swallowing slowly before nodding his head. “And me.”

Another moment passed. It seemed like these past few days had been filled with moments; quiet ones, loud ones, awkward ones, and even amazing ones. Just moments they came and went in the most delicious of ways.

Knowing he couldn’t let another moment pass, John opened the door to the van, letting it swing out before taking the first step onto the ground. He moved slowly for the sake of his body and when he finally felt he had enough ground to walk on, he slammed the door shut. The window had been opened and he turned to look at the driver in his seat.

“A city is a big place, you know,” John told him. “It might be pretty hard to find somebody there.”

John smiled brokenly, though his eyes seemed to beam in a way he didn’t know was possible. “You found me once. I’m sure you’ll be able to do it again if you try.”

Roger smiled as well, nodding his head slowly. “If. When. Whichever.” He said, letting the words sink in before pulling away. John watched as the van disappeared in the sea of vehicles before finally making his way into the dorms.

He went to his room to change before eventually dragging himself off to the medical center. They rambled on about how badly he had been beaten up and decided it was best to have the police involved. He wasn’t keen on it as all John wanted to do was be properly checked out, given some pain killers and then sleep until his next class.

There was no arguing however and when the officer arrived, he gave up the name of the bar and what happened. He explained the guys jumped him, though he didn’t know why. He offered their first names and explained what they looked like, but couldn’t offer more than that.

When questioned on it, John insisted that there were only three men. No more than that. John hoped if by doing that, the group would get any at Roger for being able to slip through the cracks, but he didn’t want to dwell on that.

When it was over with, John returned back to his dorm. He crawled into his bed, finally feeling a sense of normalcy for the first time since all of this happened. He rests his head on his pillow, noticing the odd feeling of his hair not fluffing behind him. There was a lot he’d have to get used to now, but all that could wait.

For now, all that mattered was getting back on track. As he looked out the window, John watched as the stars shined brightly. John used to think that they would shine only for him, but something deep inside said that this night, they were for Roger as well.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Three days of living in New York and he was already being held at gunpoint. In retrospect, this seemed more like some wild tale Roger would tell people back in England in hopes of freaking them out, but instead, it was his reality. Roger knew this sort of thing could happen, but he thought he would take his chance. After all, New York City was a huge place; home to millions of people. What were the chances that he would end up being robbed?

To Roger’s surprise, higher than he expected.

It was his own fault, really. The third night here and his first plan of action was to go out drinking? Correction: his first plan of action was to celebrate. Celebrate making it here and actually finding an apartment that wasn’t completely out of the way from everything. And to celebrate actually having a career that allowed him to do that.

Unlike some of the other rockstars he met along the way, Roger wasn’t a huge fan of traveling. Don’t get him wrong, he did it all the time. Before settling in New York, he went to many different countries and a few American states to try and settle down. Nothing seemed to work though. Florida was too hot. Canada was too cold. California’s weather never seemed to stick and that whole celebrity life just didn’t work for him.

Italy, Germany, Japan. All were amazing, culture-filled places, but nothing seemed to stick. Every place Roger went to left him feeling open and empty.

In reality, being a musician allowed him to travel a lot. How could he not? Tours didn’t sell out just for people to listen to his records. Sometimes he’d have people go out and tour for him; his band could play the things he wrote while he sat back at home, drinking expensive beer and not giving a damn about anything else.

Don’t get it wrong, though. Just because he has a career that allows him to experience such things doesn’t mean he’s had it easy. If anything, Roger’s had to lose everything just to gain what he has now.

However, that is a story for another day. One where he isn’t pressed against a brick wall in a dark alleyway with a gun pressed to the small of his back. Truth be told, he didn’t have much to offer the guy. He expected to go out, grab a drink and maybe a cab back home. Less than two hundred was all he carried unless the guy hoped to get away with his credit cards. That seemed rather stupid since Roger would just cancel them and report them stolen when he returned home.

The guy seemed to realize this, as he was busy cursing from behind. “This all you got?” He questioned.

Despite having a gun pressed to him, Roger still found himself rolling his eyes. “It’s eleven PM on a Thursday. Happy hour just ended and there isn’t a gentleman’s club for another seven avenues. Yes, that’s all I have.”

“This is New York. Even the fucking homeless have more than this.”

“Well, excuse me! I didn’t exactly expect to be holding a gunpoint, you know.” He replied, groaning when his head was pushed against the wall. “Next time I’ll bring my bloody trust fund!”

“I need more than that.” The guy grumbled. Stepping forward, he noticed Roger’s watch sitting on his wrist. Reaching forward it, he unclipped the lock, causing the blond to spring back.

“Fuck off!” Roger gritted his teeth. No way in hell was he giving up his watch. The wallet he could live without. Shit, you could take his fucking clothing at this point. No way was he allowing some prick to steal his watch.

The guy had other plans, however. Bringing the gun forward, he slapped Roger’s head with it, causing his face to scrap alongside the harsh brick wall he was currently pressed again. “Watch. Now.”

“I can’t exactly hand you it when my hands are pressed to a wall.” He commented, no longer caring that he sounded like a right bastard. If anybody had the right to have an attitude right now, it was him.

They were both silents for a moment. Roger began to worry if he found the one person in New York that didn’t have a problem with invading people’s personals space when he felt the gun ease off his back and heard the man shuffle backward.

“Keep your hands up and turn around slowly.” The man ordered.

Roger did as he was told. Finally facing the guy, he found him to be the stereotypical matriarch for robbers. Short, older with a bit of scruff. Not very handsome and relatively frumpy. Roger wondered how he got into this; if he was trouble from the very start or just down on his luck.

For a sheer moment, Roger almost felt bad for him, but then he remembered he had a gun pressed to his chest and all those feelings went away. Watching him now, Roger swallowed hard as the guy slipped the watch from his wrist, gripping it in the same hand that held his wallet.

“I have more cash in my pocket,” Roger said.

It was a lie, but he had always been good at playing pretend. Lowering one arm, he made sure to keep eye contact with the man before stepping into full fighter-mode.

He had learned to defend himself as he got older. Looking back at the group of kids he used to hang around with, knowing how to keep your head afloat and how to throw a punch was definitely something that would come in handy.

Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the man’s wrist, pushing it outwards so if he dared to fire the gun, at least it wouldn’t go off against him.

Next, he twisted the guy’s arm around, pulling him in so he could restrain him. Roger turned his head, preparing to call for help when the guy budded his head back, knocking into the blonde's nose. He had already felt the pain from being hit against the wall, so this was just another thing to add onto the list. Pushing away, the guy got loose from Roger’s hold and took off running.

For a split second, he thought about just letting him go, but when he realized he still had his wallet and watch, he knew he had to go after him. Unfortunate for him, the guy was quick on his feet despite being a good twenty years older than him. Despite the drinks he had and the hits he had taken during the night, Roger was still a fit man so when the man took off running, he was close behind him.

The guy zigged and zagged, going every which way. When he turned a corner, Roger turned a corner. If he crossed streets, then so did Roger. No way in hell he was letting the guy get away with the watch. No way in hell. So he continued on, pushing the limits until he finally got close enough so he could tackle him. A scuffle broke out between them; each pushing and punching, shoving at the other when they tried to break free. The ground was wet and cold from the latest snow, though that didn’t stop them from rolling around in the middle of the street.

Eventually, the guy got the best of Roger and kneed him in the place that counted. Roger groaned loudly, taking another smack to the face before the guy ran off. Roger laid there on his side, aching as he tried to pull himself up. Watching as the guy ran off, the blond felt the overall heaviness of defeat come over him and cloud up his chest.

That was until the door of a parked car haphazardly swung open just as the guy was running passed. The hit knocked him back and, thanks to the ice on the ground, sent him up off his feet. The guy was limp as the driver of the car stepped out and inspected him. Watching, he saw the stranger pick up the items the guy had in his hands and jog over to Roger, who was now finally on his feet. The block they were on was dimly light, the only thing working for them was a flickering street light on the corner.

“That didn’t look like much fun.” The stranger commented.

Roger, who had blood coming from his nose, began to wipe it away as he waved the stranger off. “Oh no. It was a real ball. You should’ve been there.” He insisted, cursing softly.

“I’m gonna guess these belonged to you? Unless it’s the other way around and I just knocked the victim unconscious.” The stranger said with a slight laugh.

Somehow Roger was able to muster a smile. “Trust me. They’re mine.”

And just like that, the street light on the corner stopped flickering and there was light around them. Both men looked up, going to greet the person they were talking to now, but instead found themselves completely silent. Grey meshed with blue as hundreds of questions came over them both. Names they hadn’t spoken out loud in years danced on the tip of their tongues as they watched one another from less than three feet away.

“ _You_.” Was all they could say.

==> ==> ==>

There was no such thing as real life fairy-tales. John always believed that. If you wanted something, you needed to work for it. No magic, no fairy godmother, no superheroes. Bust your ass and you’ll get what you want. No slacking off or crying about how things may or may not go your way. You do the work and things will happen for you.

He finished his schooling, took the first apprenticeship he could find and got the fuck out of dodge. It was hard at first, but John was a determined man and he flew up the ladder faster than even he expected. Truth was, as shy as he could come off, John was good in his craft and he was fully aware of that.

Gone was the young lad that used to fiddle around with electric kits and in his place was the grown man that had invented the best sounding amplifier the music industry had ever seen.

Coming home later than usual, he sat in his car for a few minutes, gathering his things so he could head upstairs. He intended on taking a warm shower and sleeping in a bit tomorrow since he got everything done today.

Just as he went to reach for the door to get out of the car, however, he saw the ruckus from across the way. One man was running and then was suddenly attacked while hurrying across the street. They began to fight, rolling around in the street like two wild animals. Grabbing his car phone, he alerted the police to the situation.

The man who was running seemed to get the leg up and took off running. John had seen enough crime shows to know the usual cliché of a thief; all black with a stupid hat. Noticing that he was running a bit close to the car, John decided to do what he felt right as a witness. Moving forward, he went to the opposite side of the car and waited.

And just at the right moment, he opened the door fast, hitting the guy hard. He stumbled back some, slipping on some leftover ice until he was on the ground.

Once out of the car, John went to check it out, finding him knocked out cold. Looking down, he found a wristwatch and wallet on the ground beside him. Lifting them up, he hurried over to the other male, who was just coming to his feet.

Part of John wished it would have ended there. That he handed him his things back and he could have gone on with his life. But there was a part of him that needed this. Needed this strange amount of closure that came from what happened so many years ago.

So when he came face to face with Roger Taylor . . . well, it felt like time had stopped. For that moment, he felt like a uni student. The scared young man that had been left naked and alone in a field, only to be rescued by one of the people who put him there.

Shorter after the realization came over, the police arrived. One of the many perks of living in a rather upscale section of the city: when you call the cops —they actually show up and in impeccable speed as well.

Sitting on the stoop of his apartment complex, John watched as Roger dealt with the officers. He gave his own statement, explaining that he hit him with the car door by accident and everything fell into place. The cop had given Roger a tissue for his nose, which had stopped bleeding through his chin and hand were covered with blood.

In the end, the guy was hauled off in the police car and tomorrow Roger could decide if he wanted to press charges. Until then, he and John were allowed to return to their respected homes and continue their nights. Walking over awkwardly, Roger looked to John who was still holding onto his items.

“Think I could get those back?” he asked, nodding to the wallet and watch.

John, who seemed to be dazing out, cocked his head, shaking it when he heard the words. “Oh. Yeah, here.” Reaching forward, he hands his hand out. Roger took them graciously, slipping the watch on automatically. “It’s nice,” John commented, nodding forward.

Shining silver with a blue inseam, it was nicer than any watch John had ever seen. Roger snapped it one carefully, letting it settle back on his wrist. A faint smile slipped across the blond’s, his blue eyes settling on the item before he looked back to John. “Thank you.”

“Gift?” He asked, wondering if he would spring to buy himself something like that.

“From my mum,”

That was all John had to hear. He had spent so little time with Roger all those years ago, but it was the woman in his life that stayed with John. The kindness she expressed towards her son was right down inspiring. Bobbing his head, he said no more. He figured that would be it. That Roger would walk off and they would go their separate ways. That this little meet up was just a sick twist of fate and they could move on from it.

However, John didn’t like fate. He had far too many interactions with that bitch and decided to change it up.

“Would you like to come upstairs?” He asked. Roger seemed taken back by the question. “Your face is covered in dirt and blood and your clothes are met and muddy. You can clean up.”

There was a glint in Roger’s eyes that John couldn’t describe. Want. Fear. Need. Anger. He wasn’t sure. He was about to tell him to forget it when Roger agreed. Pushing off the stood, John, fished out his key and led him to his loft

It wasn’t anything special. Big, but no penthouse. It was only him, so it wasn’t like he needed much space. He rarely ever had people over anyway. A few friends from time to time, but if he was to ever dabble in useless sex, he went to the other guy's place.

In the few years, he’s been on his own, he’s only had two boyfriends and neither got on a real personal level. The second one got close as the thought of moving in together came across his mind, but John quickly shut him down.

Did he want marriage? Yes. Children? Possibly. However, those things didn’t seem likely for him, especially with the two men he had chosen to be involved with. In the end, it wasn’t too heartbreaking. Both moved on, found people to love, and John still had his career. And that, in the end, was all that mattered. At least, to John it was.

Letting Roger use the bathroom, the brunet waited in the sitting room for him to finish. Roger found that his jacket was in fact covered in melted snow and dirt. The blood washed away from his face but stained into his clothing. Dry cleaning would be a definite tomorrow since this was one of his favorite jackets. Thankfully he didn’t dress up too much. He had no interest in getting lucky tonight, so the usual black tee and jeans were his style. His shoes were scuffed from running, but they were his sneakers, so who really cared?

Using the opportunity to be alone, Roger remained in the bathroom. Splashing water across his face, he waited for this weird fever dream to end so he could wake up. Looking into his eyes, he checked to see if he had been spiked. Maybe he was high and imagining John? Wouldn’t surprise him. After all these years, Roger still found himself dreaming of the guy he let go. The one who woke him in ways he couldn’t even describe.

Clearing his throat, Roger came to realize that this was happening and there was no hiding. Flipping off the light, he left the bathroom and found John sitting on the couch. On the table before him was a glass of water, a bottle as aspirin, and an ice bag.

“Thought you might need these.” He admitted softly, a small smile slipping across his lips.

Walking around the bend, Roger went to sit in the easy chair across from the couch. He gave a quick thank you before popping the pills, sipping the water, and pressing the ice bag against his face. A small hissed left his mouth, finally realizing how tarnished his face actually was.

“Hurts?” John questioned, though he knew it was obvious.

Roger shrugged though, playing it off as nothing. “I’ve had worse.” He answered. And strange silence came over the two and Roger wondered if this was a good idea. To stay here and remain talking. Looking around, he found the apartment to be well furnished and extravagant. His own was a bit smaller, but he had plenty to fill it with from his travels.

“It’s a nice place you have.” He spoke suddenly, not wanting the silence to take over. “Good job?”

“Electrical engineer. Inventor,” John replied with a small smirk. “Ever hear of a Deacon Special Amplifier?”

Roger’s smile beamed suddenly, those blue eyes absolutely gorgeous shining in the dim lights. “You made the DS amp?” He asked. John gave a small, yet proud nod. “I use those on tour. They’re phenomenal.”

“Well, how about that?”

John leaned back on the couch, giving Roger a quick once over. He had obviously changed in the past ten years, but by how much was surprising. He was always an attractive person, but now he was a full grown man. Strong chin. The gorgeous swoop of hair. His jacket was no longer on, giving John a better look at Roger’s arms and shoulders. He was lovely and fit, just like he was years ago.

John was just about the same. Still tall and lanky, but he had more muscle on him than he did before. He was a man, though his face was clean; stubble free.

“So,” John murmured casually. “What have you been up to in the past eight years?” He asked.

“Eight?” Roger mimicked. “And here I thought it was ten.”

“It was. I was checking to see if you remembered.”

Roger watched him, his eyes lingering longer than they needed to. “Like I could ever forget you.” He replied.

Rather than the idle chit-chat, John decided to get into it. Grabbing something a bit stronger than water for them to drink, they dished it out. How told Roger everything that happened after he pulled away. How he was changed from that night on and hope for the better. How he stopped being so afraid of the world around him and took chances in order to get where he was.

Roger still felt guilty after all these years, always wondering how a night like that could push a person over the edge, but he was happy; glad that John came out of it all right.

When it was Roger’s turn, he got into a bit more detail. He told John what happened to the guy’s; about Ray, Tim, and John Reid. The former's grew up after getting arrested and cleaned up. The last thing Roger heard was Ray having a wife and kids, still living in the same old town. Tim ended up joining the army and sort of went off the map after that.

The last one was John Reid, though he didn’t have too much of a happy ending. “He had gotten arrested for a second time; for what I am not too sure about. Everything I heard was second-hand information, but let’s just say he was really popular in prison.” Roger pressed, giving John a knowing look. “In the end, it became too much for him. He got out, word got around, and he decided to make sure he never had to face the humiliation.” Lifting his hand, Roger bent his fingers until two remained to stand, with his thumb ended. Pressing the two tips of his fingers against his temple, he flicked his wrist, making a small ‘boom’ sound with his mouth as he knocked his head back.

John shook his head slowly his tongue coming to lick his lips nervously. “I almost feel bad for him.” He admitted. “Almost.”

“I left shortly after that,” Roger told him. He had gotten his degree in biology, but it wasn’t where his heart was. Music had always been something he cared for deeply, and writing music was his little way of forgetting all the darkness around him back then.

He came to realize that as the years went on and found that, while working in a lab wouldn’t be the worst fate, he had to give this a try. His mum approved. She welcomed this confession, along with the other when he finally admitted he was gay.

He explained to her how he found a woman beautiful and wonderful and respected them all, but his attraction was with men. Again, all she wanted was for him to be happy.

Sadly, his mother died last year. To be honest, she lived longer than they expected. She left everything to Roger and his sister, and they did what they could to take care of their childhood home, but eventually, they sold it, donated anything that he didn’t want or need and decided to come to New York, where dreams came true and anything could happen.

“The watch was a gift from her.” He admitted somberly. “After I got my first song played on the radio. Inside, there’s an inscription.”

Removing the watch, he handed it off to John to show him. He read it slowly. “Our day will come?” He asked softly.

“Her favorite song.” He stated. “I used to sing it to her when I was young. And then again when she was in the hospital. Whenever I was down, she would always pat my shoulder and remind me that my day would come.”

“And did it?”

Roger lifted his eyes, looking to John. He wanted to say something strong and profound. Wanted to tell John that he has everything he could ever want. In some ways, he does. He’s been all over the world and planned on going to even farther places. He wanted to go everywhere. To the moon and back. And he would.

But the thing is, what is the point of having these adventures if he didn’t have someone to share it with? Sure, he had his fans, but that wasn’t intimate. Roger had his fair share of dates and romantic partners, but it was never for long. They were lovers for the moment and yet none ever seemed to grasp the amount of connection he had with John. The boy he was with for only a few days and shared nothing more than a kiss with.

“I should go,” Roger told him. The ice bag was burning wet on the couch and it was getting late. John bobbed his head, not fighting him on this. Standing up, they headed to the door.

“Roger,” John said softly. The other man turned to look at him, waiting for him to say something. Instead, John turned around and walked off back to the living room. He knelt to the ground, pulling out a crate full of records. Most of which he recognized as disco tracks, but one of them was all too familiar to him.

Standing to his feet, John showed it off, holding a marker up to express that he wanted it signed.

“Seriously?” He asked, raising a brow to the male.

“I work in the music industry, Roger,” John admitted with a shrug. “Can’t exactly say we follow the same genre of music, but I’ve heard your tracks before.”

Roger shook his head, laughing quietly. “What a small world.” He murmured.

Nudging the record forward, John mirrored Roger’s smile. “Sign it?”

Taking the marker, Roger pulled the cap off with his teeth as he held the record carefully in his hands.

Normally he scripted his name on the front page, but he wanted more from this. Something special. Intimate. He kept his message in careful script, sighing it off at the bottom.

Once he was finished, he closed it, handing it back to John. “Until we meet again.” He said, giving the brunet one last look before turning on his heel and leaving the apartment.

Closing the door behind him, John leaned against it. Flipping the record over, he read what had been written for him.

> **_ John, _ **
> 
> **_ If I could fly, I would pick you up and take you into the night. Truth is, you don’t anybody to pick you up or take you anywhere. Unless it’s a date. Which is what I would like from you. I will admit ripping off a pretty decent song is a shitty way to pick someone up, but I think we can both agree that we’ve always been very unique. Or really, maybe we’re just too unique for the rest of the world to handle? I found you once and for a second, I thought I found you again. But really, you found me. And I have never been more grateful. I would like you to find me once more. Tomorrow night. Meet me on the corner of Gay Street and Christopher. 8 PM. I’ll be there waiting. We’ll see what fate has in store for us, yeah? _ **
> 
> **_ Roger.”  _ **

John never got to tell Roger he didn’t trust fate, but he did tell him a lot more than that. And more importantly, he told him that though he didn’t believe in fairy-tales, their day did come. And many more would come after it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this rewrite. Didn't change much overall, just got rid of the mistakes people had been commenting about.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Is it trash? Tell me below. 
> 
> Probably gonna upload once a day. That's fun, right?


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